Storm
by RagnarokSkurai
Summary: [SiriusxHarry] Harry always knew that Sirius loved him. He just couldn't stand the thought.


The hardest part about you being gone is that I know you loved me.

Sad, isn't it? If you were just anyone it wouldn't have been so bad. But you loved me Sirius. I know you loved me. You told me you fell in love with me the minute you saw me. You were my godfather. That first time I ever got to talk to you, when I knew you were innocent and not guilty, you told me I had Lily's eyes, my father's face and hair. Things I all ready knew. Things people have always told me. Remus told me, Mrs. Weasley told me, Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore. Snape, of course, and Aunt Petunia, both in ways that were less than complimentary.

And it took me a while to believe you loved me. And it took me even longer to understand that you loved me for all the wrong reasons.

You loved me because of my parents. Because I looked like them. Because I was their child. That hurt me. I was ready for you, Sirius. Ready for you to be my godfather, to take care of me, to actually know me. And you were just like everyone else. You loved The Boy Who Lived just like everyone else. Oh, maybe you loved Harry Potter because he was your best friend's child, not because he was a hero, but in the end it was really the same, wasn't it? You didn't love me. You loved my name and my face because they didn't make you feel so lost.

That's harsh and cruel and I admit it. You did _love_ me, after all. That's more than a lot of people can say. You loved me enough to offer me a home, to hug me when I was sad, give me advice when I needed it, buy me a racing broom, and live as a dog for a year, scrounging around Hogsmeade for scraps. You centered your life around me. But that's a dangerous thing, Sirius. That's what got you killed.

Loving me is an occupational hazard. Wizarding insurance companies probably have that down as some sort of criteria. 'Associated with the Boy Who Lived? Whooooa, no, can't cover them. They're sure to croak in some horribly expensive way, or at least suffer massive injuries. Coverage denied!'

The twins have been rubbing off on me, I think. Occupational hazard of being an honorary Weasley.

Like I said, you loved me all the wrong ways. You loved me because of who my parents were. You loved me because I kept you sane. I couldn't be your salvation, Sirius. Not like that.

Did I _want_ to save you? Of course I did. The bags under your eyes were twin to mine. I'm sure you dreamed of Azkaban as often as I dreamed of Voldemort. The only time I ever slept peacefully was when Snuffles was curled up in my bed during that summer before Fifth Year. I don't think you dreamed then either.

That was when I think it changed. Because after that was when you died.

I spend all of Sixth Year mad at you, you know. Mad at you for leaving. I know you didn't mean to. You were reckless, not suicidal. But you shouldn't have been protecting me. That shouldn't have been your job. I don't want it to be anyone's _job_. I could take care of myself, Sirius. And if not, you should have just let me die. If I couldn't handle a few Death Eaters, how am I to kill Voldemort? Does _no one_ ever think of that? What good am I if I have to be protected all the time?

I'm _no_ good, that's what.

Hermione talks with me about that sometimes. She's really good about things like that. She says it's not really me, it's the idea of me. I'm the Joan of Arc, the Buddha, Jesus Christ. A symbol. A rallying point. The Anti-Dark Mark. I'm the inevitable counter-revolution, that's all.

Not that I haven't done some pretty amazing things. I've got my gifts, like everyone else. Maybe a bit more than everyone else. In some things. Doesn't mean I like it. Doesn't mean I don't wish I could just be myself and not a symbol.

Towards the end, I think maybe you liked me. _Me_. Remus and Mrs. Weasley – there were always shouting at you that I wasn't my father. I don't think you really got that at first. I do look a lot like him, I admit. I don't think I act like him though. Remus… Remus is very candid, as I'm sure you know. I can always count on him to tell me the truth. Dad wasn't the nicest of guys, was he? I didn't want to believe Snape when he told me that, but seems the greasy git was right after all.

I'm not my father, Sirius. I'm not James. I always wanted to ask you if you really, truly knew that. But I didn't have the guts.

Maybe because I didn't really want an answer.

Maybe because I didn't know what I wanted. Would it have been better for you to not love me but to know who I was, or love me and think I was someone I wasn't?

Maybe I was so in loved with you I didn't care.

Maybe I was that dumb.

The truth is that now I'll never know. So there's no point to wondering, is there?


End file.
